


New Days in the Sun

by smoakmonster



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: "IT'S SO FLUFFY I'M GONNA DIE!", F/M, Fluff, Happily Ever After, Romance, embrace the fluff, like eating cotton candy with feelings, to quote Agnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoakmonster/pseuds/smoakmonster
Summary: Sometime after the last petal falls....The adventures of Belle and her Prince as they adjust to their new life together and as prominent figures in the community. Together, they will learn to balance matters of decorum with matters of the heart. A series of one-shots and answered prompts containing pure and utter fluff.





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedPensandGreenArrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPensandGreenArrows/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast or any of the characters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chronological order of events, here for your reference. Enjoy :)

*******

CHAPTER 3 ~ after the curse, before the celebration 

CHAPTER 2 ~ the celebration


	2. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt by redpensandgreenarrows: After Beauty and the Beast Reprise is sung, Adam dances Belle out onto the balcony for some privacy...

As Madame Garderobe finishes her third aria of the celebration extravaganza, it seems her dancing partner’s feet are finally giving out. _Finally_. Belle almost huffs her surprise and relief out loud, when he takes her by the hand once more, but instead of leading her back to the middle of the dance floor, he expertly weaves them through the crowd standing along the fringe of the ballroom.

Though, if that brief, teasing eyebrow raise is anything to go by, she’s not masking her relief as well as she hopes.

Of course he’s completely unwinded, secret dancing master that he is. All afternoon, she’s had the good fortune to discover that during their first dance in this very room just a few weeks ago, he had, in fact, been holding out on her. Whether it’s years of cotillion bred into him or that he naturally carries himself with a zealous grace that’s been concealed for so long, her fiancé, the returned prodigal prince, is a very adept dancer indeed.

She might be jealous at his ability to move with such carefree ease, if she could only bring herself not to be utterly thrilled as his dancing partner, to feel cherished in the security of his arms, to spin around a room surrounded by the people they both love. She hasn’t danced like _this_ in...well, perhaps ever. She also cannot recall having this much fun in a single day. Not even throwing that treacherous snowball at him, not even her _books_ compare to this splendid adventure. And seeing the man she loves so deeply like this...so jovial, so full of life, so... _content_. He positively shines in his radiant blue suit, the color just the perfect shade to highlight those captivating, alluring eyes she could absolutely drown in.

All her life she’s been called beautiful from a distance, but up close...he is something else entirely. He is truly stunning.

Gingerly--he still touches her with so much care, as though she were made of glass and could break at any moment--yet with experienced dignity, he leads her away from the dance floor and towards the balcony, his hand a firm, soothing glove around hers.

And she’s grateful, that in that quiet yet astute way of his, he’s somehow picked up on the fact that she is growing worn from dancing. Only now can she feel the ladden exhaustion spreading under her skin, from her toes all the way up to the endless pins tucked in her hair. With every step they continue to take, she feels her feet grow more heavy, more torpid.

She’s happy to let him take the lead.

“Where are we going?” she calls to the back of his head, raising her voice over the new harpsichord number.

“Don’t you trust me?” He turns his head briefly, to meet her gaze, but doesn’t slow down.

“Yes, of course. But...the party, your guests--”

“ _Our_ guests.” He interrupts her with a quick wink, and she feels herself utterly drawn to the playful trouble of his look. She feels utterly drawn to him in general, especially today, with the way he keeps watching her, _lingering_ on her. Even now. He hasn’t once seemed to notice or care that all _their_ guests are watching him--watching _them_. But she can feel the crowd’s scrutiny at her back, both the pleased and the critical eyes of strangers. And as much her own upbringing has pushed her into severely distrusting being the center of anyone’s attention, the way he’s watching her now is enough to make her forget there are other people here. Somehow, he gives her more courage in the midst of chaos. With his crystal blue eyes severely focused on her alone...it’s enough to make her cheeks warm and send her heart racing for a reason that has nothing to do with dancing.

She bites her lower lip, and immediately his gaze drops, as he stares intently at her lips. Something stirs _deep_ within the pit of her stomach, something strange and warm and...she can’t help but lick her lips under his intense gaze.

Uncontrollably, she leans in closer, until their chests are almost touching.

And she suddenly realizes...they’ve stopped moving.

He lets out another deep, rumbling groan, and she gasps in surprise.

His grip around her hand tightens. “Come,” he says, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Before I do something very foolish and not altogether princely.”

“I didn’t fall in love with a prince. And I’m no princess,” she reminds him.

Something else flashes behind his eyes, and she see, can _feel_ whatever inner struggle he’s going through, because it has to be the same unsure battle she feels within herself, consuming her from the inside out.

Something in her expression seems to relax him, because then he releases an exaggerated sigh. The familiar sound is so rich it vibrates around and through her, and for a moment she can see him as he was...in his other form. “No, you’re something altogether worse.”

He’s back to teasing her again.

“Worse? Like what?”

“You’re a goddess,” he whispers, kissing her hand once more.

~xxx~

His words have the desired effect, because he watches in secret fascination as her cheeks turn a bright shade of red that makes her--unbelievably so--all the more bright and ravishing.

She ducks her head in that delicate way of hers, irrationally bashful once more. And he would apologize for drawing unwanted attention to her, but he’s made it his mission to show her, to prove to her, that not all attention has to be unwelcome and ugly. It’s high time someone taught her that being noticed and being regarded are not always mutually exclusive. He plans to spend his life showering her in affection, and he’ll gladly devote decades to reversing the curse those villagers have put her through, if that’s what it takes. He wants to teach her that not all poetry has to come from books. There is poetry in _action_ , in secret smiles and laughter and warm caresses and whispers in her ear...

“You’re too good to me,” she says, still not quite meeting his eyes.

“Impossible.” Even in his permanent human form--barring no other enchantresses decide to go on a casting spree--he’ll never be good enough for her.

He leads her out to the balcony, and she follows willingly as much as she walks at his side, his partner in life, even if they still make a severely unequal match. The brilliant daughter of a very good man and the foolish son of a very bad one.

He blatantly ignores the flat-out look of horror Monsieur Cogsworth shoots him. He can practically hear the grumpy man’s words of disdain already. “ _But sir, you cannot abandon your guests! Have you no propriety?”_

 _Perhaps not_ , he thinks. Maybe propriety has left him like so much of his previously unappealing personality. And maybe it’s better this way. He’s spent too much of his life trapped by the opinions of strangers; in regaining his freedom, he is no longer bound by the rules of society. Well, at least, not completely bound. There is still the matter of his arduously long engagement to Belle. A _month_. A whole month of her and her father living in the castle with him but sleeping an entire wing away from him. If he thought those bullets were going to be the death of him...

While he realizes their overall courtship has been superiorly... _unconventional_ , it did take him less than a week to fall in love with her, so a month seems like a lifetime now. It was actually Belle who insisted on the generously short engagement, much to her father’s initial concern, and who could blame the man; but she was determined, his formidable fiancée. _Though she be little, she is fierce._ And in this one instance, he was more than happy _not_ to argue with her.

Thanks to her, it appears all rational judgement has escaped him as well. It’s the price to pay for love. And what a bargain he’s gained.

His heart is bound to her, but he’s also bound to his sense of duty. He’s happy to spend the next month reacquainting himself with his wife as a man, even as he must reacquaint himself with the rules of society.

And he can sense somehow that she feels as equally unprepared for the task as he does, though they have a lifetime to figure it out. It’s all thanks to her that there will be time for that later. But not today. Today, all he can focus on is _her_ and making sure she’s completely at ease. It’s why he needs just a moment alone with her, a moment where they don’t have to be the prince and his fiancée parading among the aristocracy. Here, on this balcony, they can be who they were before...on the night they first danced together, as two people who love to read and love each other, with no prying, eager eyes to speculate what they could possibly be talking about. He still does, and suspects he always will, prefer her company to anyone else’s anyway.

She moves to lean against the balcony railing, and he prolongs the parting of their hands as long as possible. Immediately, he craves her touch. His hands feel cold and unsure without her to guide him. So he quickly closes the glass doors behind them, officially secluding them from the rest of the lively party. 

The advantage of this, however, is that he has an easy excuse to study her without making her feel awkward.

She’s an absolute _vision_ in that white gown, sprinkled with a rose pattern like she’s a saint descended from the clouds. When she first walked out of her East Wing room and met him at the ballroom door, like that first time so many nights ago--it feels like a lifetime ago and yesterday at the same time--his breath had caught in his chest. There’d been something mischievous in her eyes--there always is with her, he’s learning, always some secret promise of things yet to come, of a lifelong story he has the privilege of unravelling a little more each day.

She is the real enchantress, because he feels himself completely under her spell. He’d do anything for her without a moment’s hesitation. He’d order a thousand more books to be shipped in from Paris. He’d take her to the most exotic travel destinations in the world. He’d...he’d let her go again, if that’s what she wanted.

He comes to stand alongside her, placing a safe separation between them. Now that they’re alone, he can _smell_ the wafting aroma of her scent, a light honeysuckle fragrance mixed with ink and old books, so very much _Belle_. He suspects his heightened sense of smell is a lingering effect from before, one that he has yet to share with anyone, not even her. 

He’s suddenly having trouble regaining his nerve to talk to her, but the silence between them is pleasant and simple and unrushed.

Belle, of course, always the more courageous of the two of them, breaks the silence first.

“So are you going to tell me why you wished to speak to me in private? Or are you just going to continue to stare at me?” He catches her short, teasing smile before she grows serious again.

He swallows. “Am I so obvious?”

“I believe your social skills could still do with some improvements.”

“Yes, well, not everything can be reversed through the work of an enchantress.”

He twists his body to face her completely, mimicking her by leaning against the railing, though still avoiding her touch.

When he doesn’t elaborate, he notices that adorable frown spread over her countenance, the little valley pinching between her eyebrows, like she’s deducing how to solve all the world’s problems before afternoon tea.  

“Did it hurt?” she finally asks.

“Did what hurt?”

“Well...when you...changed.”

He hesitates, unsure how to explain, because he still hardly understands the whole process himself. “Not when I changed into...as you see me now, no. But then, I was unconscious for most of that. The first time... _it_ happened, I was in pain, but not solely for the reasons you might suppose. I had a rather low pain tolerance then anyway.”

“Don’t do that.” Instantly, she closes the gap between them, already laying a hand on his chest, silently imploring him with those big brown eyes that he can never have the strength to say no to.

“Do what?” he breathes.

She tips her head sympathetically, as though he is but a small child, and she’s trying to explain a complicated issue to him. And in many ways, that’s exactly what he is, and that’s exactly what she’s doing.

“Don’t belittle what it must have been like, how terrified you must have felt, to be out-of-control of yourself, to...to be _trapped_.”

“I deserved it,” he says simply, because he did.

“ _Then_ perhaps, but not now,” she insists.

And as much as his soul longs to embrace her words fully, and as much as her love professes to the contrary, the physical evidence of that very truth made manifest just by the fact that he is here as a man and not a beast, he still often wonders if he doesn’t deserve it now.

As though she can read his thoughts, she goes on. “Please don’t believe you deserve anything less than to have a full and happy life, to make this world a better place just by living in it.”

He smiles, feeling foolish once more, but that feeling is so common around her these days that he almost welcomes it. “As long as you’re with me, _m_ _on cœur_ , I can promise you that I will be happy and full, which is far more than I ever imagined I’d receive.”

The hand that carries his father’s ring comes to rest atop hers, pressing her small but steady fingers more deeply against his heartbeat.

“And are you...happy here with me?”

She blinks, and her lips part in surprise. “Do I look _un_ happy to you?” She almost looks offended.

He stumbles to recover. “I...I just want you to know that...should your feelings ever change, you are by no means bound to me in any way. You set me free, and I...I will always wish to return the gift.”

He has trouble meeting her gaze, but she waits patiently, persistently until he finally does. His fears of rejection aren’t so vanished as he’s tried making her and the others believe. They remain just below the surface, dormant but always nagging, always taking up space inside, clogging his heart until it becomes so heavy it hurts to breathe.

But she knows. Somehow, she always knows.

“Oh, you silly, wonderful man, don’t you see? You already have set me free.”

He frowns, because that can’t possibly be true, but he’s too shocked and too puzzled to even try to interrupt her.

“All my life I’d been waiting...well, waiting for _something_ , waiting to meet someone, _anyone_ , who would understand me, who would enjoy the things that I enjoyed and just let me be myself. No one in the village ever talked to me, much less encouraged my funny little antics.”

He laughs once, because he can’t help it. He adores her little inventions. He adores the way she imagines things that don’t exist yet.

“But then I came here and...well, at first, it was very difficult to be near you. But then...something changed. You changed. _I_ changed. And then, one day I didn’t feel like a prisoner anymore. I felt...whole.”

It’s possible he’s stopped breathing, as he hangs on her every word as though her voice is the sole tether keeping him here on earth.

And in her very Belle way, bravely ignoring whoever may be watching them through the windows, she boldly yet gently cups his face, her soft caress the perfect balm to soothe his aching mind. “I found what I’d been searching my whole life for, and it wasn’t in the pages of a book or faraway places as I imagined. It was _you_.”

He keeps his eyes on hers as they slowly press their foreheads together.

“So that’s a yes?” he hears himself asking.

She laughs. “Yes. I am _so_ happy.”

And even though no doubt dozens of curious eyes are turned to them by now, and even though public displays of affection are not encouraged in most polite circles of the society, even for the prince, he kisses her, deeply, soundly, and she kisses him back just as enthusiastically, which only fuels the fire rising inside him now. Oh, how he'll never tire of  _this_. 

When they finally have to come up for air, he still doesn’t let her go. He clings to her, his smaller but still strong hands digging into her dress.

“We should head back,” she says between ragged breaths, not making any effort to move. And neither does he, as they enjoy the silent but steady peace they’ve found with each other. As much as he cherishes having someone who understands him to the core of his being and seems to know his needs before he even thinks about asking for them, the intimate silence they share is no less significant, where words aren’t necessary, where just being in each other’s presence is enough.

“I’m not ready to let you go,” he finally says.

“You never have to let me go,” she promises.

He’s talking about the dance. She’s talking about so much more. And they both know it.

He pulls back just enough to give her another teasing look. “I believe your father required at least one dance with you today.”

She beams at him, and then rises up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t worry. I’ll come back to you in no time.”

But before she can fly away from him again, he brings her hand to his lips and briefly kisses her knuckles, sending her another flirtatious wink for good measure.

“Mm. You kiss by the book, sweet prince.”

He rolls his eyes, almost dropping her hand out of spite. “Dear heaven, quote me anything but that wretched play if you want me to be happy.”


	3. A Life Sentence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on prompt by anonymous on tumblr:
> 
> I think it could be cute if you wrote about them having a conversation soon after he regains his princely form, where they each talk about what they were thinking of each other and the circumstances when certain key moments in the story happened, and how each was so concerned for the other but also kind of wondering what on earth the other was thinking, etc. Haha, I'm sorry, I'm not expressing myself very clearly, but if you want you could try to do something with that...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank the dear Anon who sent me this prompt a few months ago. This one was a bit of a struggle for me, though not because of the prompt itself. My muse was being a bit temperamental and led me down a slightly different path than originally intended, but I hope you all enjoy the result.

Belle finds him in the library... _their_ library.

He’s leaning back in his usual reading chair, his feet unceremoniously propped atop the desk in front of him, as he studiously pores over one of the larger books in the collection that he’s determined to finish.

She has to bite her bottom lip to keep herself from giggling at that wonderfully adorable little furrow between his eyebrows already in place. He’s so deep in concentration, completely oblivious to her presence as she tip-toes a little closer. Like the morning she found him in the rose garden reading about King Arthur, it’s easy and natural to be playful with him. And lately, particularly during quieter moments like this, he seems almost childlike, so full of wonder and open to a world he’s been isolated from for too long.

She understands that yearning completely.

Hiding behind a corner bookshelf, Belle studies him further, making special note of the way the sunlight illuminates his hair with golden flecks and how smooth the profile of his face is now. She’s begun a bad habit of watching him at every opportunity, wanting to try to catalog all the ways his features and expressions have changed and yet stayed ever just the same. Despite the radical transformation of his outward appearance, he seems unchanged in his overall manners and lingering gazes and sarcastic quips.

But there are also small things that keep taking her by surprise, small, idiosyncratic acts that pile up to make him appear altogether...altered. Unknown. She blinks, and it’s like she’s in the room with a stranger.

And yet, Belle realizes, it’s not as though they were intimately acquainted before. They were barely even friends. How much of the change in him is because he _has_ changed? And how much of the change is simply because there is still so much more to learn about him?

She doesn't know how to reconcile the easy companion she knew before with the regal prince before her now.

“I’m not going to change back, you know.”

She starts, suddenly feeling...flustered, caught, uncertain.

“I can feel you staring,” he says without looking up from his book.

“Forgive me, I--” Belle turns in search of the nearest book she can get her hands on.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” His words are gentle, and he looks up at her then, that distinct twinkle in his eyes. He abandons the book with a toss onto the table and sits up straighter as he looks back at her with a hundred questions in his eyes.

“At least now I know I’m being watched for the right reasons. And you’re not alone, you know.”

“Alone?” she parrots.

Something in her face must give her away, and the way he looks at her leaves her a little shaken but also steady, in the best way. She’s a little envious of his ability to do that...to read her so well, like she’s an open book herself, to know her enough to see into her mind in the silence.

“Strange as it sounds, I sometimes miss the old me--well, perhaps not the old me entirely. But I will admit there were certain... _advantages_ which my...other form provided.” He teases her with a quick smirk.

She returns the smile easily, feeling oddly relieved. “Hmm, advantages. Such as?” she asks, sauntering a little closer to his desk.

“Such as...never being cold. I’d forgotten how frigid this castle can be at night. And I was considerably faster. I never ran late for tea.”

She laughs. “I’m sure Mrs. Potts would never have allowed that.”

“No,” he smiles, pausing, tipping his head at her a bit as he studies her right back in that special way of his, the way that makes her feel the blush rise and spread all over skin, from the tip of her head all the way down to her toes. “What are you doing so far over there?” He holds his hand out to her, and she can’t help the way her heart soars as she hastens her steps just a _little_ towards him, this time running to him, never away, never away again.

His hand is always so soothing enclosed around her own. She’s still getting used to the warm smoothness of his skin. As she draws close, he watches her with that same quiet caution like always, like he’s afraid she’s going to wake up one day and change her mind about him. As if her heart could be so changeable. While she _has_ changed, too, she hopes he realizes it’s for the better.

He pulls her into his space with slow, welcoming movements, and she follows, carefully twisting into place, fitting perfectly on his lap. This marks the third time they’ve done this--not that she’s keeping track--and he never seems to mind that his silk jacket will be ruined for the rest of the day.

Once she’s seated, she raises her arms up and over his shoulders, interlocking her hands behind his head.

“Hello,” she says just a breath away from his face.

“Hello,” he answers softly.

“Taking a break?” She nods to the open book he’d tossed aside.

“Oh...yes.” Quickly, he combs a hand through his hair, looking oddly sheepish.

And like a beacon in the night, her eyes lock onto that subtle, habitual motion, the way his hand runs through his vibrant hazel gold hair, exactly the color as the hair he had before. Her heart flutters strangely at the familiarity of the act, one she finds rather endearing.

“I just came up here to look through any political documents I could find. It’s been some time since I’ve bothered to care about doing my civil diligence. And in truth, I’m a bit overwhelmed.” He huffs once, a little grumpily, puffing out the side of his cheek, exactly like he did the day he first brought her here. “So I opted to start reading something else, and I suppose I...got a bit distracted.”

He looks so... _young_ when he talks like this, about all the influence he’s supposed to have in the world but seems to care very little about. There’s still an innocence about him she can’t quite pin down, and it’s just another mystery about the man she loves that she looks forward to uncovering. But there will be time for that later.

“Yes, well, Homer does have that effect,” she declares brightly. “Even if it's not in the original Greek.”

“Who's making jokes now?” He flashes a mock glare at her. “Promise not to tell Cogsworth? He’ll be furious with me for delaying the inevitable.”

It’s rather adorable that her once beast could be so intimidated by his elder attendant, when it was not so long ago that those roles were reversed.

Spotting a few hairs that have come loose, Belle cannot resist casually running her fingers through the ends of his hair. “So long as you promise not to reveal _my_ secret.”

“Oh. And what secret would that be?”

“Well, Lumiere and Cogsworth have been helping with... _princess_ duties.” She utters the word with apparent disgust, which draws a bursting, vibrant laugh out of him, one that she feels flutter through the core of her being. Startled, she beams back down at him, loving him a little more for that.

When he manages to quiet himself back down, he remarks, “So you came here to escape, too. What do you say we run away?” He leans in closer, his nose just barely brushing against hers, his arm encircling her in a fortress of strength.

“Hmm. And where in the world would we go?” she asks, playing along, trying and failing to ignore the rushing thrill that comes over her as his splayed hand makes a lazy journey up and down her back.

He frowns deeply, as though seriously considering it. “Anywhere you wanted. There’s always Paris. The furthest islands in the East. The _Americas_.”

He makes his own face at that, sending her into her own fit of giggles.

“And just what would we do in the Americas?”

“I have no idea, but I’d imagine it could be fun.”

“Hmm. I’d go anywhere as long as it’s with you. And most importantly, I’d stay with you.”

He kisses her hand briefly, as though to say _thank you_ , before looking back over at the desk in front of them, covered in papers. His frown turns grave, less fervent and more anxious.

“Oh no. What has you making that face?” She reaches up to cup his head and turn his face back to hers.

Looking a little lost, he has trouble meeting her gaze again. “Well, it’s not every day that the former infamous prince--with a reputation for having abhorrent social skills--reenters society, emerging from the dark forest from which he was cursed.”

Belle fixes him with a look of her own. “Are you always so dramatic, your highness?” she teases, as she takes to straightening his loose cravat.

That earns her a delightful, though petulant, eyebrow raise. “Yes. It’s what gets me attention.”

“Well, you don’t need it. You already have all my attention.”

As she smooths the nonexistent wrinkles on the sleeves of his jacket, Belle falls into one of her imaginative trances, wondering what in the world the man before her now was like...before everything changed.

And of course, he catches the shift in her gaze; his entire being shifts, his body unconsciously curling in closer to hers, as he becomes completely and utterly focused on her. “What? What is it?”

She licks her lips, unsure how to begin. “Before...before the curse, how _did_ people look at you?”

He sighs heavily, his shoulders sinking a little. “However I wanted them to look at me. I wanted to be seen as someone who had everything. I wanted others to...to be envious of me, I suppose. And I am ashamed to say that I mistreated everyone around me to get the recognition I craved, especially the people who kept this castle running. They’ve always been too good to me.”

She waits until he’s decidedly finished, until he has the courage to maintain eye contact with her, and then she offers him a sympathetic smile, one she hopes conveys all the love and acceptance she has for him without judgment.

It seems to work, because his whole body softens on an exhale. His fingers loosen their tight and desperate grasp against the fabric of her gown.

“What’s brought this on, Belle?”

 _Belle_.

Her heart still does this funny little flutter at the sound of his voice, a deep and soothing timbre--though not as deep as she instinctively recalls. It’s taking her some time to adjust to the way his voice sounds now, a little softer, a slightly higher pitch, and a little less rugged. But somehow, still beautiful, still sounding like _him_. It’s the way he says her name. He is all familiarity and graciousness, treating her as though she were both a countess and an old friend.

“I just wanted to learn more about you, to understand you.”

“And you think dredging up my hideous past in the best way to do that?”

She hesitates. “I realize how painful it must be to talk about...”

He sighs deeply, his hand resuming its running in small, soothing circles against her back. “It’s not painful so much as it is...regretful. I wish you didn’t have to know the kind of man I once was.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything further until you’re ready.”

He smiles meekly, reaching up to rest his palm against her cheek. Instinctively, she leans into his hand and shuts her eyes, relishing the silent comfort they draw from one another, like his hand was designed to fit her face and hers alone.

“You’re being so patient with me,” he finally says.

“You’ve been so patient with _me_. I confess, it’s not been easy...transforming into a princess.”

His smile changes a bit, deepening briefly to reveal faint crinkles about his eyes that she’d not been privy to before. But his smile fades quickly as he turns serious once more, his voice raspy and filled with some unidentifiable pain. “Belle, I want you to know every part of me--the past, present and future. And I realize in order for that to happen, I need to talk about my life...from before.”

He swallows, as though struggling with how to put his past into words. And she waits, sitting up a little straighter and holding her breath, not wanting to scare him but also not wanting to stop his determination to share. This is important. She _feels_ the importance of this moment in the way her heart viciously hammers against the walls of her chest, so loud she’s certain he must hear it.

“I wanted to be out from my father’s shadow so much that I...I made people hate me as much as I hated him. Because then at least I had some sort of control over my own destiny.”

She gasps, and instantly his eyes fly up to lock with hers. She sees the fear in those bright blue eyes, the fear that he’s told her too much, already too much. But she shakes her head quickly, as she searches for her own words. While she’s aware of some of the horror of his childhood courtesy of Mrs. Potts, she’s never heard the truth from _him_ , from the little boy who lost his mother--just as she did--and his childhood in the same day. And it’s...it’s so _much_ ; it’s nearly as doleful as she imagined--and so much more traumatic at the same time.

Desperately, she takes his narrower and skin-covered face back in between her hands for safekeeping, while holding his gaze, conveying with all her might that she is not afraid. “I am...so sorry for whatever horrors you had to endure as a child. No one should have to grow up hating their own father.” She doesn’t think she would have liked the man very much, so perhaps it’s best they’ll never meet.

He seems to sag with relief, though his eyes don’t carry quite the same level of mirth that she’s gotten used to these past few weeks. “Thank you for that, but as we well know it’s no excuse. I let my anger turn me into a callous, selfish... _creature_. I was a beast long before that enchantress knocked on my door. I often wish I never became that man at all, but then...”

When he pauses, she finishes his thought. “Then we might never have met.”

Slowly, his eyes regain their usual twinkle, those little crinkles reforming in the corners. He seems pleased that she could follow his thoughts so easily, that they truly do understand each other. “Does that make me a fool?”

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him back close to her. “Well, if it does, then we are both fools together. _Ones who loved not wisely but too well_.”

That daring, wonderful eyebrow shoots up again. “Shakespeare?”

She laughs. “Yes, but this one is _Othello_.”

“Ah, yes. Who doesn't love a compelling tale about a man being deceived by someone claiming to be his friend?”

“The story is _also_ about a woman seeing the man she loves, when everyone else judges him for his outward appearance. She can see beyond his exterior and straight into his heart.” This time, her hand seems to move of its own accord, falling from his neck down to his chest. “You’re nothing like you were before, you know. And that’s what matters,” she breathes, positively shivering at their closeness, at the way he can’t seem to stop touching her either, as his thumb comes up to stroke the back of her hand resting against his heart.

“That’s thanks to you.”

Belle tips her head, answering brightly, “Well, I didn’t do it all by myself.”

She watches the confession form in his eyes before he says it aloud. “Belle, I...I know I’ve said this before, but I am sorry for the way I acted then, for the way I treated you.”

“I forgave you, my love. And I forgive you now,” she tells him softly, unable to stop herself from quickly glancing down at his lips. Is it just her or has he gotten much closer? When she quickly looks up, she finds him staring at her lips too, before his eyes dart back up to meet hers again, gentle and desperate and longing.

xxx

They’ve just begun brushing their noses against each other, so close he can practically feel the taste of her already...when Belle suddenly pulls back. He’s about to ask what’s wrong, when he hears the distinct sound of familiar footsteps echoing down the hall.

Belle starts, her eyes going wide. “Just as I hope you’ll forgive me.”

She hops off his lap faster than he can say, _“Be my guest.”_ With surprising grace, she scurries towards the nearest pillar, when suddenly the doors to the library are flung open, and she halts, frozen in her tracks, like a startled doe in the woods. He’s about to assist her or stop her or do _something_ , when just as quickly she flies back in his direction and then detours by throwing herself-- _yes_ , throwing herself, all grace forgotten--underneath his desk, shoving herself into the little crook where his chair would usually fit.

Dumbstruck, he can’t help but stare down at her and those big, pleading eyes. _“Please, I’m not here!”_ she mouths up to him.

He can only blink stupidly at her until their new arrival makes himself known with an abrupt clearing of his throat. Just like the good old days, he thinks ruefully.

He raises his eyes slowly to find, like clockwork, Monsieur Cogsworth standing proudly before his desk, bowing once and huffing in his distress.

“Your highness. I was looking for um...well, your _betrothed_ , sir. She seems to have disappeared.”

He shoots a quick glance downward, stealthy, to find his _betrothed’s_ eyes go even wider with panic, and she immediately presses her index finger to her lips, silently begging him not to give her away. As if he had any power over whether or not he obeyed her every wish. As though his natural instinct wasn’t a constant dichotomous struggle of wanting to give her the world and also show her the world.

Fortunately, in this one instance perhaps, his prior youthful endeavors may be of some use to him. He’s had enough practice lying to Cogsworth’s face and avoiding responsibility for years, that his awkward hesitation and haphazard glances downward are hardly noticeable.

Casually, he sits up a bit straighter, forcing a slight frown on to his face for good measure, as though he’s truly _puzzling_ over where in the world his beloved could be. He rests his hands on the desk in front of him, casually yet effectively covering the little nook with his entire body.

“I’m sure she’s hiding around here somewhere, Cogsworth,” he says, struggling not to smile at his own little joke, and he can almost picture Belle wincing and covering her face with her hand in embarrassment.

“Yes, sir. That’s why I’m here, checking with you, to ask if you have seen her. As you well know, this is her favorite retreat--”

Cogsworth suddenly moves closer to the desk--almost in line to see into the nook--and he can’t have that. So he scoots his chair a touch, silently praying he doesn't accidentally smack the beautiful woman lurking beneath his desk.

He decides this charade needs to end, so he projects his best _princely_ voice, puffing out his chest a bit, commanding attention in that way he effortlessly perfected years ago but seems to struggle with maintaining now. “Cogsworth.” And he’s a little surprised at how loud he raises his voice--as it echoes through the empty rafters. “ _If_ Belle was in the library presently, don’t you think you and I would know about it?”

It’s not a lie, technically, but it makes for an effective deterrent.

“Well, I...”

“Shall we call for her?” He’s surprised at where his mischievous thoughts have led him, but this is far too amusing an opportunity to disregard, and if this means getting him alone again with Belle sooner, well then he’s certainly a proponent of this plan. “Belle!” he calls to the ceiling. “Oh, Belle, darling? Are you here?”

Cogsworth, a man of propriety, at least has the decency not to interrupt his childish actions and glances up and around the large room, as though Belle might just emerge from the balconies at any moment.

“Yes, sir. I see. You’ve made your point. Please have the dear girl return to the kitchen as soon as possible. Decades of traditions and order cannot be floundered overnight simply because you and--”

He clears his throat.

“At her earliest convenience, of course.”

As soon as Cogsworth takes a bow and leaves (his departure made known by the abrupt clanging of library doors slamming shut), he pushes his chair back with a screech and practically leaps to the floor to join his fiancée, who’s somehow coiled her arms around her legs pressed them up against her chest. He hunkers down beside the nook, angling himself as close as he can next to this obnoxiously low table--how on _earth_ is she small enough to fit under there?

“He’s gone, my love.”

Belle finally raises her head and looks at him with those wide doe eyes, revealing a bright, impish grin. “That was very cruel,” she whispers.

“Oh, he’ll manage,” he breathes a laugh, unable to stop himself from reaching up to push one smooth lock of hair that has managed to escape its place in her bun and tuck it behind her ear. “Not that I don’t approve of hiding from Cogsworth at all costs, but do you wish to tell me what has you scurrying away from him this morning?”

Her smile fades instantly, replaced by an adorable pout. He has to physically restrain himself from smiling at the way her whole demeanor shifts.

“I’m supposed to be making decisions regarding the celebration ball--only, I don’t feel I know at all what I’m doing. Despite having grown up there my entire life, I hardly know anyone from the village. And Monsieur Cogsworth says that the invitations should have gone out yesterday, but--”

“Well then, by all means invite them all.” He shrugs.

Somehow, she looks even more horrified at the prospect. “My _entire_ village? Are you sure there will be room?”

He tips his head playfully. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I don’t suppose there are _quite_ enough rooms to hold everyone. We might have to exclude a chicken or two.”

That breaks her out of her troubled state, and she laughs so heartily, he can't resist winking at her, effectively sending her into another small fit of giggles.

“We could probably fit them all in this library alone,” she admits.

“My darling, invite the whole parish, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Belle shakes her head very soberly, but there's a lightness returned to her expression that had been missing for a few minutes--a few minutes far too long for his comfort.

“Well, we must be sensible about this.”

He nods, wearing an exaggerated frown, feigning more seriousness than he feels. “Of course. That is one of the many qualities that I love about you.”

When she nibbles on her lower lip, his gaze instantly falls to the act, and he feels himself drawn back into that delicate line where her lips and teeth meet. Something new and vibrant wells up deep inside his chest, a warmth oozing from his heart and radiating out across his entire being, through his veins and down to the soles of feet. It's a similarly overwhelming feeling to the night the changed back into a man. It's the same inescapable pull he felt the first time he kissed her--and every time since then.

She looks up at him a little sheepishly, effectively breaking the spell he'd fallen into. “Perhaps we should start by standing up?”

He tries not to groan, but he can’t help it if his disappointment shows. “If you insist.”

He takes her hand, helping her rise to her feet with as much dignity as possible.

He's preparing himself for releasing her hand, but to his pleasant surprise she doesn't let go either. Instead, she reaches up to lay both her hands on his arms, watching him in that curious, captivating way of hers; it's a look he believes he'll never learn how to say no to.

“When did you know?” she finally asks after a period of easy silence.

“Know what?”

“That you love me.”

“Oh, this game again. Let me see, I think the last time we discussed this I had settled on somewhere between getting hit with that ridiculous snowball--”

“It was no more ridiculous than the one you threw back at _me_.”

“-- _and_ the night of our dance,” he continues, unfazed by her interruption.

She rubs her lips together tightly, seemingly unsatisfied with his reply. “There are still a few days in between those events. Surely you can narrow it down a bit further?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, well, not all of us have the privilege of watching the person they love undergo a physical change right before their very eyes the moment they realize their affection.”

“You know, even if you hadn’t have changed back...I would have stayed.”

He releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I know. And that’s exactly why I did change back.” He pauses to study her briefly, as though the answer to his question will be written across her perfect brow.

“Belle, why did you stay? The night the wolves...” He abruptly shuts his eyes. He can’t even look at her, can’t even finish that thought, because just the memory of that night still haunts him; the lingering image of her almost being swallowed up by animals in the night makes him shudder. He shudders at the way he sent her away--at the way he _frightened_ her. He almost lost everything that night.

A warm, gentle palm presses against his cheek, and he opens his eyes to find hers filling with happy tears. “You were hurt. I couldn’t...I couldn’t leave you.”

“And after?” he asks, his voice thick and rough. “When I was better?”

“Well...things changed after that night. Didn’t they?”

“Yes. I gave you a library.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Is that really what you thought? That I stayed because...because of all this?” She glances around the room briefly before coming back to him.

“Well...I couldn’t fathom you wanting to stay for any other reason. Pity, perhaps, and intrigue. But nothing more. Wanting to see if you could uncover the secrets of the beast.”

She shakes her head again, a bit softer, stroking his jaw with the same care and ease that she once stroked the fur that used to cover him.

“And I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes, I suppose you did.”

When he leans in closer still, to press their foreheads together, he feels the intensity of her love hit her like a storm. Ten more colossal libraries could never repay her for all that she’s given him.

And so he tells her. “I owe you so much, Belle. I am indebted to you forever.”

She hums against his skin, positively vibrating with life. “Is it a life sentence?”

He pulls back just enough to regard her intently. “You know, I believe it is. I shall never be free.”

And then, he finally gives in to his deepest need to hold her and show her how much he means what he says. He kisses her attentively, carefully, guiding her through the act. They’re still becoming reacquainted with one another now that he’s a man. But, oh, is she a quick learner, his clever, wonderful Belle. She may have less experience than him in this arena, but she’s a wonderful partner, her lips warm and soft and full, silently begging him to go faster even as he exerts all of his might to respectfully slow them down. He allows himself to indulge in cherishing her this way for just a few seconds longer, because the next person to come waltzing into the library could be Mrs. Potts or--heaven forbid--her _father_. And he will not have his future father-in-law thinking ill of him just a few days after their engagement.

But Belle, bless her, is growing a little bolder in her displays of affection every day, and that only encourages the temptation further. Their hands roam over each other, her fingers digging into his jacket, while his fingers re-familiarize themselves with the contours of her perfect shoulders.

He hasn’t known safety and comfort like this since his mother was alive. Even as his body is still learning the shape of hers, it’s his heart that is slowly, almost tentatively becoming reacquainted with how it feels to love and be loved in return.

And to think, he almost turned her away.

A life sentence for a rose...for redemption.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, reader! Thanks for giving this fic a chance! Hope you enjoyed it and stick around for more (or should I say...evermore). 
> 
> I'm happy to take additional prompts/headcanons. You can submit them in a comment or send me a message on [tumblr](http://bellesdiaries.tumblr.com/ask).


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